Forever is Never Again
by Kage NoTenshi
Summary: This is a death fic. See if you can figure out who died, and who lived to tell about it. Rated slightly high.


Aiyaa…how to explain this…okay. Basically, it feels strange when someone dies, and it's a lot more to cope with than people usually think (who haven't experienced it, at least.) It's then that you find out how difficult it is to really understand these sorts of things. Hence, this fic. It is a character you all know (or at least should if you know Yu-Gi-Oh), but I'm letting him speak some of the things I feel. (See if you can guess who it is and who he's talking to before the end.) Also, Yu-Gi-Oh doesn't belong to me until Kazuki Takahashi dies, because he willed it to me. I wish. 

I Don't Understand

There are some things I cannot comprehend, no matter how much I try. Things with simple names like "forever" and "death" and "gone." When we talked, "forever" was a hyperbole, exaggeration beyond reason. You know, "It took _forever_ to get that cat from under the bed." When I met death, it was when the mouse made the mistake of stepping into a trap. The mouse stopped, but others still scurried. "Gone" was the milk in my cup, until you poured me more from the refrigerator. 

But now…

Now I stand all alone next to the cold, long, black box. Your face looks…peaceful, peaceful like I never saw it before. I know you never really liked flowers, yet now they surround you. The white chrysanthemums lie as still as your frigid hands, so still everything seems dead. Time stops as I stand here, and I wish even more that I could turn it backwards. I never said everything I wanted to, never told you how much I always needed you. Maybe you knew anyway, but I had wanted to tell you. I feel queer inside, almost hollow, right above my heart. It's not pain or pressure, but I'm sure I don't like it all the same. Usually I would have asked you what it meant, but I can't. You're gone now, gone so that you'll never come back to me. "Never." That's another word that confuses me.

I stand here, and my eyes are dry because I don't really understand any of this. It was all so sudden, and I still don't quite realize you're not there. I'll start talking to you and then remember with a jolt that you won't hear. You always had an answer for me when I spoke, and I don't like the silence that replies now. I sleepwalk a lot too, ever since you left, and I'll wake up standing by your empty bed, my voice echoing quietly in your vacant room. I'll feel like you're looking at me from behind, only to turn around to greet emptiness. I thought I saw you yesterday in the foyer, but it was your blue coat hanging limply on the wall. I used to laugh at myself when I did that, but now it hurts. 

I dream of you, too. Every night you come back in a different way. Sometimes it's as if you never left, and I'll hear the shutting of the limo door and your footsteps in the hallway. I'll hear you walk to your room and put your briefcase on the desk. I'll come in to talk and see your face one more time. Other times, I'll see myself by your grave, leaving more chrysanthemums and I'll feel your hand on my shoulder. Your face will be there, smiling slightly, a little amused at my confusion. But always I wake up and you're not there, and everything seems a little emptier.

Our time together wasn't all that long if you think about it; only as long as my lifetime, since you were older. The day it all happened was three days shy of sixteen years, did you know that? I had wanted to tell you how happy I was, and how much you've made my life better. It sounds cliché when I say it, but what I felt was absolutely nothing ordinary. You might not have really understood. You never had anyone there to protect you. It was always like you to take the beatings of life as they came, the ones meant for me as well as for you. You let your heart be slaughtered and turned to ice so that mine could flourish and grow unscathed. I'm sorry, I guess. It wasn't what I wanted. 

I didn't have the chance to repay you for all that you did for me, but I cared more than anything. My heart broke with fear when I saw the computer go haywire, and the dueling system you were working on sparked and crackled. You stood like you were frozen-we all did-watching everything unfold. By the time I realized what was happening, black smoke and shooting flames had engulfed my vision, mixed with hurtling debris. I heard my voice screaming your name over and over, but nothing answered me. 

I study your face now, the only part of you that, incredibly, wasn't burned. You would have been pleased with how well the undertaker covered up the gash on your forehead and the wounded hands, now folded calmly on your chest. You always did appreciate a job well and thoroughly done. 

How can you look so peaceful when my soul is in turmoil? The others-you know, the ones you never quite accepted as friends-were sympathetic and tried to comfort me, but I'm not ready for that yet. I'm still talking to the shell of flesh you left behind as if it were you. I have not yet begun to grieve; I don't know how. It will come, I know, but not quite now. The others don't understand that. They can't because they haven't lost like I have. I'm still figuring out what it feels like to live, the way the air brushes against your throat when you breathe, the way you can laugh or maybe cry, the way color works. What does it feel like to die, to be dead?

You said once, a long time ago, that you would look out for me no matter what. You promised to be there, and you taught me about life. You taught me not to cry; and you taught me how to love, though you may not have realized it. You were my world, and I loved you to the border of reverence. Sometimes fate carried us far from each other, but always you hunted me down and brought me back again. And though you didn't do it often, I liked it best when you hugged me and told me that nothing could keep us apart. I always believed you. Then this barrier came, and neither of us can cross it to reach out towards the other.

You taught me many things while you lived, and now you have taught me about death.

I miss you Niisama.

~~~

Author's endnote: So I just killed my #3 muse's character. Please don't be offended, Seto fans. It means he actually won his way into my good graces for a little while. I only kill and torture the ones I favor. (The ones I don't like…well, I just ignore them.) So now Seto is sitting in my head trying to decide whether to be angry or flattered.


End file.
